Play

I wanted rougher. I wanted rougher to feel like he *wanted* me. To feel like I caused him to lose control and couldn’t help himself. A combination rape/D/s fantasy. What he gave me was so utterly different that what I anticipated. I realize now that I hadn’t fully formulated what I wanted. My fantasy was a mere snippet. A moment within an encounter without any context or aftermath.

The evening started the same way as many – some talking on the futon with some touching and caressing. He likes to hear me talk, it’s a form of foreplay for him; to feel a connection, intimacy, trust. I asked him once if he would like me to greet him at the door on my knees; take him in my mouth before he’s even fully entered the room. He said no (kindly of course). He prefers talking first, that’s what turns him on. Particularly if we haven’t seen each other in a while, as is often the case.

He had some pain and asked me to massage him, his leg, thigh, groin area. I was happy to oblige as any excuse to touch him is a good one. And the request fires up some faint nurturing instinct within me. When he has pain, I tend to assume that means that sex is off the table for the evening. Well, you know what they say about assumptions…and he’s surprised me more than once in that arena.

And last night was certainly a surprise.

I used to be indifferent to sucking cock. Which is odd, since apparently I have an aptitude for it. (And I know what you’re thinking: *everyone* believes they’re good at it, because men continually give positive feedback in order to continue being serviced. Doubtless a mediocre blow job is better than no blow job at all. But for some reason I trust the men who have expressed surprise-gratitude-compliments on my skill. I get the sense that it is not just empty flattery. But I digress…) With Gawain I actually enjoy fellatio – and will often find myself aroused by the act. Generally not in a really obvious wet, hot and throbbing kind of a way – but enough to make me ready to fuck without much more preparation required – though of course he would be happy to oblige – or watch me…

Predictably, massaging led to fondling, which led to sucking his cock, which led to the bedroom. (Note: I really must make the guest room a bit more hospitable, I have yet to have sex in there with anyone. Ridiculous after 8.5 years of living in this place). The continued cock sucking didn’t actually last that long before things changed. Suddenly he was telling me how he was going to be using me. Hard. I was somewhat taken aback as we established a safety word and how I would communicate dissent if my mouth was otherwise occupied; and then we began. I adjusted quickly, excited and curious to see where this would go.

He ordered me onto my knees with my hands behind my head. I was to hold onto my pony tail and not let go. And he slapped me. And again. Harder. He yanked down my panties with his foot and I struggled out of them without moving my hands, shocked and delighted as I heard them ripping. The conflicting thoughts and emotions that went through me even in those first few moments are almost indescribable. I strained to maintain an upright stance as he plunged into me from behind, trying to compensate for the lack of balance normally offered by my hands as I tilted forward towards the bed.

“Are you a little slut?” “Are you a fucking whore?”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Yes what?” “What do you call me?” He barked this at me, yanking back my hair. I had never experienced that kind of authoritarian look and tone from him before.
Yes Sir.
“You’ll say that before or after everything, understand?”
Yes Sir.

He would kiss me with gentleness and intimacy, and check in often. He had put a lot of thought into how this scenario would play out. He had to establish trust – for both of us. He had to know that I wasn’t scared, or hurt or damaged by any of this.

He fucked me hard. Moving my body around with more ferocity and speed than I was accustomed to.

“Do you like this?” “Do you want me to fuck your mouth?” “Do you like it when I slap your face with my cock?”
Yes Sir.
“Say no.”
No Sir. (Your mouth says “no” but your body says “yes.”)
But it was intoxicating. Impossible to think or focus on anything other than what my body was experiencing – utterly captivated by the game we were playing.

I’ve always liked having my hair pulled, but I recognize now that what I had experienced before was merely a gentle-to-moderate tugging. Last night? It was pulled. Often. And the pain was surprising and stimulating.

But the part that resonates with me now? What I’ll remember the most about the evening?
His hands on my throat. A gesture I had never considered before meeting him, and it’s always been arousing. Something to do with the slight limitation of oxygen, making everything else feel more intense. As he put his hands on my throat last night, I tensed with anticipation of the familiar pleasure, but with my hands around his wrist, he picked me up and threw me to the other side of the bed.

Holding tighter to my throat than before, he did it again. And again. I was shocked at how much I liked it. I’m not one to place value judgments on anyone’s sexual proclivities; but that temporarily gave me pause. He checked in with me again, perhaps not sure how to gauge whatever look I may have had on my face, but I barely had time to process it, all I knew was that I enjoyed it, and was happy to continue.

I’m still processing. And sore. Sore in a delicious way that just serves to remind me of the night I’d had. Sore in my hips, my chest/clavicle, and miscellaneous other places. And I was pulling out strands of hair for the rest of the night. Good thing I have enough for 3 people plus a puppy.

Last night was our first go at this. I can only imagine that each subsequent encounter like this will only prove to be more intricate and arousing. I am supremely grateful to him for surprising me with this kind of play.